


A Time To Dream

by bookish_changeling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Cas comes back because fuck the CW, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams vs. Reality, Episode AU: s15e20 Carry On, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Season/Series 15, Quote: I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29822700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookish_changeling/pseuds/bookish_changeling
Summary: Dean died. Or, he thought he did. When he wakes up to find that Castiel is alive, and human, it feels like heaven. Despite the details that are just slightly off, he can be happy here.Then he wakes up in the hospital, paralyzed from the waist down.Every time he falls asleep, Dean returns to Castiel's side, injuries nonexistent. Maybe the dream world is better than the real world, but he has a choice to make before time runs out and he can't wake up.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	A Time To Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Dean does get thrown onto the rebar, described a bit graphically, but he does not die. Cas will be back from the Empty.

The vampmime- no matter what Sam said, that was a great name- doubled over as Dean kicked him in the groin.

He really should've expected the enraged vamp to retaliate, but he wasn't quite expecting it to be like this.

Dean threw himself forward, aiming for the stomach, and the vamp-mime grappled him backward.

The cold metal punched through his back, tearing through the skin, and bone, and muscle as if it was tissue.

At first it just felt odd, as if his entire back had gone numb. 

A tingling ache spread through his arms, not unlike the feeling of when one of your limbs fell asleep, although this signaled something far more deadly.

As he shoved at the masked, grinning face, he felt his strength draining, enough so that his efforts were futile.

The vamp pulled back a fist, and Sam came from behind, lopping off its head in one neat swing.

“Alright.” Sam grinned breathlessly, shoving his machete back into the sheath. “Let’s go find those kids, get them out of here.”

Dean took a short, painful breath, and it caught on the exhale.

“Sam?” His voice faltered. “I don’t…”

Raising a hand to his chest, he gestured vaguely to where he felt the pressure. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

“What?” Sam stepped closer, squinting in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Dean waved a hand loosely behind him, face eyes closing briefly. “Think there’s somethin’ in my… my back.”

He could feel the pain, now.

A raging, roaring riptide that would crush everything in its path.

Sam’s eyes widened, but Dean could see that his brother didn’t quite understand yet.

“Feels like...feels like it’s right through me,” he laughed weakly, groaning when the movement shifted him.

Taking several quick steps forward, Sam put a hand to where Dean’s jacket met the beam.

It came away red with blood.

Dean let out a sharp breath that turned into a groan halfway through. “God.”

“Alright.” Sam’s hands shook as he rested them on Dean’s shoulders. “Hang on, I’ve got you.”

He pulled, gently, but even the tiny movement had a tsunami of pain washing through him.

“No, no, no, no-” he gasped for breath, one hand pushing weakly at Sam’s arm. “Don’t- don’t move me. Don’t move me. Feels like-” a harsh breath. “Feels like this thing’s holding me together right now.”

He let out a soft, pained breath, but something snagged, something caught in his chest and he bit his lip to stop from crying out.

“Just give me-” he dropped his head back against the beam. “Just give me a minute.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded quickly. “Okay. I’ll call for help. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He started to move away, and Dean felt a burst of irrational fear.

It felt like, if he was alone again, the darkness would be back.

He’d be gone, just like Cas-

“Sam- Sammy? Sammy… don’t… don’t leave.”

Sam shook his head tightly. “Dean, just for a minute. I’ll be right back, I swear.”

Before Dean could tell him not to, beg him not to, his brother was gone, and the darkness was there.

Waiting for him to close his eyes.

“Please…” he didn’t know who he was asking. The pain had almost all thought held by a single thread that would be easily cut. “Please, I don’t want to die.”

The darkness was closer.

Sam got back before it could take him, voice too loud in the stillness. “I called for help- there’s a hospital just a couple minutes away. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

“Sam?” Voice hoarse, he waited for Sam to acknowledge him, but Sam didn’t turn, simply made a noise of affirmation. “You get those boys. You get them… someplace safe, alright?”

It was only then that Sam stopped his frantic movements.

In a strange voice, oddly choked up, barely more than a whisper. “I will. But only because you’re going to be in a hospital bed, getting better.”

Dean tipped his head back, staring at the fading ceiling.

Or maybe it wasn’t fading.

He was.

“He loves me.”

“What?” Sam was back in front of him, suddenly.

Dean hadn’t seen him move.

“What?” He stared at his brother.

“Who loves you?” Sam looked scared.

He hated that his little brother was scared.

Look after Sammy.

“Don’ be scared.”

“I need you to keep talking, Dean,” Sam said sharply. “I won’t be scared if you can- if you can keep talking, okay?”

He was warm.

It was nice.

But-

Sam was scared.

Look after Sammy.

He wouldn't be scared if-

“Dean, who loves you?”

He frowned, climbing through the piles of clouds in his mind.

Clouds.

Angels lived in clouds.

Maybe.

Angels.

Cas was an angel.

“Cas,” he said triumphantly, tried to say triumphantly, but it came out as a whisper. “Cas’s an angel. Loves me.”

“Yeah?” Sam looked scared still.

“Do we… have to fight?” He could tell he’d said the wrong thing, because his little brother’s face seemed to crumple.

“Yeah, Dean, you need to- I need you to-”

Sammy was crying, Dean realized dimly.

He needed to fight.

Protect Sammy.

“I need you to fight.” Sammy was crying, and scared. “Please.”

He didn’t want to fight.

The darkness was coming again, and it would take him to Cas.

He wasn’t scared of it anymore.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Birds were singing.

Dean rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow.

He stilled.

Opening his eyes, he turned onto his back, staring at the room.

It was, objectively, a nice room.

But as he looked around, everything felt off.

Sitting up slowly, he glanced around again.

The bed was a full, and he couldn’t make sense of why he would have a full size bed.

Or why he was here to begin with.

Maybe Sam had brought him to a hunter’s house to recover?

That seemed the most likely explanation.

Although as he moved, he felt none of the pain he had felt in the last moments before passing out.

He lifted his shirt, expecting to find bandages, or something, but even his scars were gone.

Twisting around, he reached up for the area where the rebar had hit him, and couldn’t feel a thing.

Not pain, not a scar, not disfigured tissue, nothing to suggest that it had happened at all.

And as off putting as that was, it wasn’t the strangest thing about the place.

He was barefoot, in a worn T-shirt and sweatpants, and this room, whatever it was, felt familiar.

It felt like home.

Through the window, he could see the last rays of sun over unfamiliar mountains, and soft green curtains drifted around the open frame.

Standing slowly, he took a long look around the room, and moved to the door.

The halfway was empty, but he followed the light source, coming into a small kitchen.

There was a pitcher of flowers on the counter, and a pot of something on the stove.

Sounds came from outside, and Dean stepped slowly to the door.

It was a secluded house, he noticed absently.

He couldn’t see any neighboring homes, which was probably a good thing.

Dusk was settling over the small house, and the lawn under his bare feet seemed well cared for.

Everything seemed like he was seeing through a glass, and it wasn’t until he rounded the corner that everything snapped into focus.

Crouched by a beehive- of all things, this was the one he wasn’t surprised by- wearing a plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Cas was talking quietly to a bee that had landed on his hand.

As if sensing Dean’s presence, he turned, shading his eyes with his free hand, and beamed up at him. “Hello. Did you sleep well?”

Dean stared at him, heart clenching in his chest. “What?”

“Did the tea help?”

“I don’t- Cas?”

Tipping his head to the side, Cas squinted worriedly at him. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“Is this heaven?” It was the only thing he could think to ask.

This wasn’t a memory, but Cas was in the Empty, and there was no other way he’d be here, talking with an easy smile, seeming so happy-

Cas smiled softly, easily. “If it was, I’d have baked you a pie.”

Dean swallowed tightly. "How are you here? What happened with the empty?”

“Dean, you’re worrying me.” Taking a step forward, Cas reached out a hand, hurt filtering into his eyes when Dean flinched back. “What… Empty? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Shaking his head slowly, Dean cast a desperate glance around.

There was a small ornate bench beside the hives, and he sat slowly, dropping his head into his hands. “This isn’t funny.”

Cas knelt, hands hovering several inches away from his knees. “Dean, please, just- talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” He said tightly, chest filling with something approaching panic. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to call Mary?”

"She's-" Dean cut himself off, shaking his head. "No."

No matter if she was _alive_ here, if this was a djinn world he didn't want anyone else around.

“No. I’m-” letting out a sharp breath, he rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m fine.”

From what he remembered, he just had to play along until night, when he could escape.

He smiled tightly, taking in for the first time how healthy and... _human_ Cas looked.

Skin tanned, a furrow between his brows that deepened the longer Dean stayed quiet.

“I’m okay, Cas.” He let his smile slip into something softer. “I promise. Got a bit disoriented there, but- I’m okay. Where’s Sam?”

Cas couldn’t seem to form words, mouth opening and closing slowly.

“Cas?”

The very air seemed to drop in temperature.

“Dean… Sam’s- you know we haven’t seen him in years… Not since before Stanford.”

The world came crashing down around his ears for the third time that day.

When he couldn’t find any semblance of words, Cas took his hand, pulling him to his feet, and leading him towards the house.

Any other time he would’ve been overjoyed at the simple contact, but his mind was racing, possibilities overwhelming his brain.

This couldn’t be a djinn world, then.

A djinn world would have everything you wanted, and his happiness, his own little corner of heaven, wouldn’t be without his brother.

And yet, looking up to see his barefoot best friend and object of his affections, it still felt a little bit like Heaven.

As Cas turned back to give him a worried look, squeezing his hand tighter, he felt a wave of longing sweep over him.

“Cas?”

His angel stopped on the steps to the house, turning back to smile uncertainly.

Before he could speak, Dean stepped forward hugging him tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Cas tightened his hold, pressing his cheek against Dean’s. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” He breathed in, short and sharp, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands. “Please, Cas, tell me what’s happening.”

“Come inside,” Cas insisted. “Just come inside.”

His hand was gently taken, and he was led through the doorway he’d left not ten minutes before.

They entered a room he hadn’t seen yet, a living room from the looks of it, with a couch and chairs strewn around.

“Sit down,” Cas said softly, his tone brooking no argument. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean watched him leave, footsteps fading into the silence.

The walls, he noticed, were filled with photos.

One of him and Sam, younger, but with carefree smiles.

One of Dean and Cas.

When he saw that one, he was barely surprised by the wedding bands on their fingers.

If this was supposed to be everything he wanted, well...

Cas came back into the room carrying two bowls with steam rising from the tops.

“You need to eat,” he said quietly. “It might be low blood sugar.”

Accepting a bowl without argument, Dean took the time to study this world’s version of his best friend.

From what he’d seen, it had everything right so far.

The exact shade of his eyes.

Every strand of hair that formed the curl on the back of his neck, refusing to lie flat.

The slant of his jaw.

His way of sitting was different, though.

Although, he guessed if you were human for longer than a few years you learned to shed the stiffness of garrison teachings.

“Dean?”

He jerked his gaze back up to Cas’ face, realizing that while he’d been doing his mental appraisal, Cas had been doing his own.

Staring at him blankly, he noted that even the scar on his temple had been captured.

“Dean.”

Once again realizing he hadn’t answered, he blinked quickly, shaking his head. “Yeah, no, sorry. Yeah?”

For the first time in several minutes, a small smile graced Cas’ lips. “You haven’t started eating.”

Dean looked down at Cas’ bowl, and frowned when he noticed that the food was almost completely gone.

“I’m… sorry.” He gave his most charming smile. “Just a bit out of it. Bad dream, y’know?”

From the way Cas’ eyes narrowed, he did know, and Dean wasn’t fooling him with the smile.

“Not feeling too good,” he lied quickly, letting some of his exhaustion bleed onto his face. “Can we just- watch a movie, or something? Please?”

Cas studied him intently, expression softening into a mixture of concern and warmth.

That, Dean knew, he believed.

“As long as it isn’t Tombstone,” he said teasingly. “You may have a “thing” for cowboys, but I’d prefer not to watch you drooling over young Kurt Russell.”

Dean felt a pang of familiarity at the air quotes. “What do you suggest we watch, then?”

Cas’ smile spread slowly, soft and teasing. “ _ Say Yes To The Dress.” _

Dean choked on the spoonful of broth he’d just taken. “How is that any better?”

“I know you better than myself,” Cas said laughingly. “And that means I know you’re secretly a fan of cheesy reality shows.”

It was too easy to fall into this easy back and forth.

“Cas?” He said suddenly. “Do you-”

His voice caught in his throat, and Cas tipped his head curiously.

“Do you love me?”

Cas’ hand slid over his wrist, fingers intertwining with Dean’s. “Of course I do,” he answered easily. “I always have.”

The words settled over him like a warm blanket against the cold reality.

Cas was dead, but if he got to have this, he didn’t want to wake up.

“Okay.” His voice was unsteady. “Watch your show, then, and I won’t complain.”

Cas smiled easily, leaning back into the couch cushion, and resting an arm over the back.

Barely breathing, Dean scooted closer slowly.

His breath shuddered out in a heavy sigh when Cas dropped his arm to Dean’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

“You can sleep, if you want,” Cas said quietly. “You won’t have nightmares while I’m here.”

Dean shook his head stubbornly. “You don’t know that.”

_ I don’t want to sleep, not when I might wake up and you’ll be gone. _

“Yeah I do.” Cas swept a hand through his hair, fingers gently swirling patterns on his scalp. “It’s always better when I’m beside you.”

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Dean slung his arm over Cas’ waist, terrified of rejection, but knowing he wanted to at least have this, for however long he could.

“Sleep, Dean,” Cas said, every inch of him relaxed and soft. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Dean closed his eyes, cheek pressed to Cas’ shoulder, hoping desperately that it wouldn’t be gone when he woke up.

“I love you,” he whispered.

He dropped into sleep before he could hear Cas’ answer.

  
  
  
  
  


\---

  
  
  
  
  


_ “He’s waking up-” _

_ “Gotta watch for disorientation-” _

_ “-flush the IV-” _

  
  
  
  
  


\---

  
  
  
  
  


Dean opened his eyes.

The blurry lines above him solidified into a hospital room, stark lines and white paint.

Something was touching his hand, and he rolled his head over tiredly.

Sam was beside him, face pale and eyes red. “Dean?”

“Where’s Cas?” He mumbled. “Promised he’d be here.”

“You almost-” Sam’s voice broke. “You almost died.”

“No-” Dean tried to sit up, an alarm sounding when he did. “I need to see Cas-”

Sam pushed him back down, hands gentle but unyielding. “He’s  _ gone _ , Dean.”

Hands shaking, Dean gripped the sheets. “He promised.”

_ He’s not here. _

_ He promised. _


End file.
